


hold your tongue

by nbsherlock



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbsherlock/pseuds/nbsherlock
Summary: “i need to do something gross.”richie glances at him, looks back at the TV, like this is casual conversation. “like, something specific or just generally gross?”-sometimes the first step towards healing is several smaller steps taken over a long period of time.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 94





	hold your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> wow... this is my first published reddie fic and i'm attempting to write several chapters of it. the rating may go up! this is very dialogue-heavy which is not typically how i prefer to write but this is how it came out! enjoy!

They’re sitting on the couch when Eddie brings it up. And maybe that’s what makes it possible: the mundanity of it. Richie’s feet are in Eddie’s lap, the TV playing something mind-numbing. Eddie takes a deep breath. 

“I need to do something gross.”

Richie glances at him, looks back at the TV, like this is casual conversation. “Like, something specific or just generally gross?”

“Not specific,” Eddie exhales, “I don’t have any ideas, I just— you understand, right?”

Richie turns to face Eddie, “I thought after nearly dying in a sewer you’d be over gross.”

“I don’t know why I ever thought you wouldn’t joke about that—“

“I'm not joking. You nearly died in a sewer—“

“Anyway, Derry doesn’t count.”

Richie glances around his apartment (their apartment, Eddie internally corrects). “Living here?”

“I've cleaned.”

Richie makes his face go blank. “You don’t know what I've done to this couch, Eds.”

“And I don't want to. I'm telling you I need to do something gross, why are you questioning me?”

“I'm just making sure that’s what you actually want and this isn’t some sideways way of telling me something else.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie deadpans. 

“Fuck me, indeed. Now tell me what you want to do. Is it a sex thing? Tell me it’s a sex thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Eddie looks back at the TV. A Real Housewife is yelling at another Real Housewife. “It can not be a sex thing.”

“But it _should_ be a sex thing,” Richie insists. “So we both benefit.”

“Who says you’ll benefit from a gross sex thing?”

A grin unfurls across Richie’s face. “I benefit from any sex thing.”

Eddie pinches Richie’s ankle. “Anyway, I still don’t know exactly what I want.”

Richie’s smile softens, “Take your time, I can wait.”

“This literally isn’t about you.”

Richie nods idly, focuses back on the TV. Eddie runs a thumb along the tendon of Richie’s ankle and thinks. 

—

They’re in bed the next time Eddie manages to get the words out. Richie is mindlessly singing to himself while scrolling through twitter, frenetic out-of-order verses of Bohemian Rhapsody. Eddie swallows and spits it out, which is unfortunately fitting phrasing. 

“I want to put my fingers in your mouth,” he fumbles through, staring at the ceiling. 

Richie stops abruptly, looking over at Eddie. “Is this your backward way of telling me to stop singing?”

Eddie looks back. “No, I think it’s my gross thing.”

Richie’s face screws up. “You know, I don't literally have a trashmouth. I brush my teeth.”

Eddie shakes his head, closes his eyes. “It’s not you, it’s the— saliva, Rich, come on.”

Richie blinks. “Are you sure you’ve never put your fingers in my mouth?”

Eddie nods, “I'm sure.”

“I can kind of remember it, though.”

“Richie, I'm 100% sure I've never put my fingers in your mouth.”

Richie hums, scrolls through his twitter feed for another minute before freezing, turning to Eddie and smiling. “Does this mean you’ll let me suck your dick?”

“You’ve sucked my dick before.”

“I mean sans condom,” Richie explains. “Just your dick in my mouth.”

Eddie fights a shiver, the idea crawling up his spine, “Can I think about it?” It’s not even that he’s entirely opposed to the idea in the grand scheme of things. The feeling of saliva, Richie’s tongue against his skin, is objectively less appealing. The idea will just take some getting used to, probably. 

Richie nods, turning back to his phone again. 

—

They don’t set a date, because that’s the kind of thing that’ll linger in the front of Eddie’s mind until it happens and make him drive into a phone pole or something. It lives in the near future until the near future is on their doorstep at which point Eddie turns to Richie during an episode of SNL and asks if he can put his fingers in his mouth. 

“Now? While Melissa Villaseñor is doing AOC?”

“I can wait until a commercial break.”

“Wait, I thought this was supposed to be a sex thing,” Richie lights up, “are we doing a sex thing on the couch? Eddie, you _dirty boy_.”

“Don’t call me a— Jesus shit, Richie, just. I'm trying not to lose my nerve, here.”

“Do you want me to brush my teeth?”

“No,” Eddie forces out. “No.”

“I just ate—“

“Richie, shut the fuck up and open your mouth.”

Richie giggles in a way that Eddie knows means he’s nervous but is trying to shake it off. “I can't do both at the same time,” Richie mumbles, “you’ll have to help me.”

“That’s the worst line you’ve ever used on me.”

“Ever?”

“Please, open your mouth.”

Richie gives one last desperate glance to Melissa Villaseñor before opening his mouth a crack. 

Eddie, hands shaking, slips two fingers into his mouth and lays them against his tongue. 

It’s nothing he didn’t expect; wet, hot. Gross, but not as gross as he’d imagined. He takes a shaky breath and turns his hand, running the tips of his fingers along Richie’s soft palette, up to the backs of his front teeth. 

Richie exhales, hard and shaky, his eyes wide and steady on Eddie’s. 

Eddie turns his hand again, pushes back in, along Richie’s tongue. Richie makes a soft noise, his expression gentling, his eyes going hooded. 

Eddie breathes, his other hand balled on his thigh. “It’s okay?”

Richie nods, Eddie’s arm moving with his head. “Open a little more, okay?”

Richie does, taking a deep breath through his nose. Eddie slips a third finger into his mouth, his thumb hooked over his cheek, his pinky laying down against the corner of his mouth and his chin. 

Richie’s starting to salivate now, the wet building up around Eddie’s fingers. Part of him wants to tug his hand back, to wash it for hours. The other part pushes deeper into Richie’s mouth, almost too deep. He feels Richie’s throat preemptively spasm. 

“Sorry,” he croaks. 

Richie makes a negative noise. 

“It’s okay?”

Richie nods, winks at him. Eddie loves him, painfully so. 

He moves his fingers back, thrusts them into Richie’s mouth. Richie’s throat contracts appropriately this time, trying to keep Eddie’s fingers out. Eddie, reluctantly, starts to think about his dick in Richie’s mouth (“sans condom,” the Richie in his head chimes in.) until he has to take his fingers out and take a few deep breaths. 

“Are you okay?” Richie’s voice creaks. 

Eddie takes a quicker and harsher breath at that, putting his hand over his eyes before jolting away from the damp touch, wiping it on his sweatpants. “I'm fine,” he insists, his heart racing. “I'm fine.”

Richie clears his throat. “You don’t look or sound fine, and those are the things I usually check first.”

“You’re not funny,” Eddie manages. 

“There he is.”

“I'm sorry, I just need a second.”

“That's okay,” Richie says, folding his legs in front of him on the couch. “Can I do anything?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No,” then, “Actually, could you get me a wet paper towel?”

Richie does, hurrying to the kitchen and then back to the couch with both a wet paper towel and a dry one, carefully cleaning Eddie’s hand. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles. “I wanted that to go better.”

Richie shrugs, drying Eddie’s fingers. “I think it went alright for a first try.”

Eddie closes his eyes, sighs. “Did it?”

Richie makes an affirmative noise. “I liked it. It felt good.” He swallows. “To have your fingers. In my mouth.”

Eddie nods, looks at Richie. He’s smiling, his cheeks flushed, uncharacteristically coy. Eddie reaches out and pokes his cheek. “Okay. If you think so.”

“Do you want to talk about it more?” Richie says, eyes darting over Eddie’s face. 

“No, I'm fine now,” Eddie takes a steady breath. “I just needed a minute. And to clean my hand off.”

“Okay. Just-- let me know, okay?” Richie turns back to the TV. “Now, can we finish this and then go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Eddie pulls Richie by the shoulders onto his lap, “Get comfortable.”

Richie squirms against Eddie’s legs and pulls a pillow under his head, now focused back on SNL. Eddie twines his fingers into his hair and leaves them there. They can come back to this. Eddie leaves a bookmark on the feeling and moves on.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> alright guys wish me luck writing the rest of this (via comments, if you please, much appreciated). right now the chapter count is at a tentative 3 but we'll see how that goes. my tumblr is margaritaville. love you guys.


End file.
